


The History Club

by kathrynboleyn



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Some angst, happy ending guaranteed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2019-08-19 23:44:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16544627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathrynboleyn/pseuds/kathrynboleyn
Summary: Bucky Barnes has been on ice too long. Because while he was doing time as HYDRA's pet project, the world kept turning. Empires fell. Presidents were made, and unmade. Some guy walked on the damn moon. Bucky's not bothered about missing out, until his ignorance almost costs them a mission. It's time to swot up. Lucky for Bucky, Darcy Lewis, PolSci Post-Grad is willing to help.





	1. The 48th State

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knew Hawaii wasn't the newest addition to the union?

#1: The 48th State 

As a rule, Bucky Barnes doesn’t like undercover missions. 

Pretending to be someone he’s not. The success of the mission dependent on his ability to lie. His own personal hell - and he’s visited a few of them. Give him a bird’s nest in an abandoned warehouse over the street any day. The quieter the better. 

Technically, he’s not doing much undercover tonight. He’s there for back-up; supporting Natalia as she charms a crooked businessman - and aren’t they all? - into giving up a state secret or three. Bucky’s only job is to sit at the hotel bar drinking expensive whiskey, and that really is within his skillset. 

The chatter in his earpiece is uneventful, and no one is paying him much attention which he’s grateful for, mission or not. His metal arm is covered with a suit jacket, and a prosthetic glove over his silver hand that mirrors flesh so accurately he still jumps a little when he looks down, but he’s never been good at blending in. Six foot tall, a dark mess of hair that brushes his shoulders, not to mention that he’s built like - what was it Clint said? A ‘brick shithouse? - make ‘nondescript’ a little difficult. But serious money is being exchanged tonight over the green baize, and since Bucky is neither giving or receiving that cash, no one really gives a fuck about the tall grumpy stranger at the bar. 

Well; mostly no-one. 

Bucky knows how many people are in the immediate vicinity - forty-six - and he knows how many of them could pose a physical threat to himself, Natalia, or any civilians - nine. Seven of those are carrying concealed weapons, five are clearly trained in covert security at minimum, and three are much taller than Bucky. Should it come to it, he’ll need to put his enhancements to good use if he wanted to avoid a few hours of bruising. 

Unfortunately this is undercover, so the muscle he’ll need to engage first is his brain. Less fun, and much less predictable, he thinks to himself as the man approaches Bucky’s right. 

“Good evening,” he opens, throwing Bucky an amicable nod. English accent, traces of something else - Swedish, maybe? Scandinavian for sure. Just under 6ft, around 180lbs and carrying a weapon in a shoulder holster on his right side. He didn’t enter the casino with Natalia’s newfound friend, but Bucky would bet everything he owns - which isn’t much, unless you count stocks and shares he hasn’t touched since 1942, which is probably quite a lot - they’re together. “What are you drinking?” 

Bucky wonders for a moment if he’s being solicited and is debating whether to be flattered or uncomfortable, when he realises he’s simply being assessed as a threat to this man’s employer.

“Scotch, thanks.” He keeps his own accent as generically-East Coast as possible. Shit, he’s got to say something else now. Small talk was never his forte - he usually went straight to the point, and in the army everyone was friends by default. Getting shot at will do that for you. “You come here often?” He cringes internally as the words come out. Now Bucky sounds like he’s soliciting. 

“When I’m in town, sure,” comes the response. “You don’t. Obviously.” 

Bucky frowns. “Obviously? I mean - yeah. Obviously.” The bartender puts down a fresh glass of scotch and Bucky resists the urge to down it and disappear. “I mean, I used to come here. Before. But then I went away. Moved, I moved. Away.” Wow, Barnes. You’re nailing this. He’s definitely not suspicious at all! He takes a sip to give his mouth a brief respite from fucking everything up. Come on, Buck, you can do this. You can talk to people. You’ve done that before. 

“Where did you move?” Mr Scandinavia continues. 

“Out of the country.” Bucky replies into his scotch glass. “Hawaii. Wanted to get out of America, you know? Fed up of aliens and… Tony Stark.” Well, that part’s true at least. “So I figured, why not leave altogether? The 48th state was calling.” He manages a genial smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“The what?” Scandinavia tilts his head. There’s some chatter - urgent, exasperated - in Bucky’s ear, but he’s not listening. Before the gun leaves the holster, Scandinavia’s head is against the bar and his crushed wrist pinned alongside it. 

Then, as is often the case, everything happens at once.


	2. Darcy Lewis, PhD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damn freshers, right?

Since graduating college Darcy Lewis has seen a lot of things. She has met Gods - plural - from pantheons past. She has witnessed several attempted invasions of the planet by other worldly creatures, even participating in preventing one. She watched half the world’s population crumble to dust, before returning an hour later as if nothing had ever happened. 

None of those things could have prepared her for Freshers’ Week at Empire State University. 

Chaos doesn’t begin to cover it. Shrieking, giggling hipsters jostle for space on the quad, rushing to sign up for societies and clubs they’ll never attend. It’s a warm September day in New York, and the field is a sea of bare midriffs and flip-flops. Darcy tries to remember if it was like this at Culver. If it was, she didn’t notice. Too busy smoking and arguing and smoking. 

Forget the Freshers, she tells herself. You’re a grad student. A PhD student, in fact. You’ll be a Doctor one day, like Jane, or Erik, or Bruce Banner. Okay, maybe not quite like Bruce Banner. Guy needs to get a hobby. The point is, Darcy Lewis is not a fresher, and she has places to be. 

The quad is large for a city campus but she only gets lost once. The building she needs is on the north side. No, wait - behind the north side. Behind those dumpsters, and to the left of an industrial-looking building sprawling with vents and enormous power cables. Okay, not prime real estate, but there’s a nice view of Washington Square Park, and it’s walking distance from her apartment if she’s not running too late. 

Today she was running late. 

It was a simple meet-and-greet with her PhD supervisor. They’ve exchanged e-mails for almost six months now, met at two separate conferences, but this morning was the first time they met as supervisor and student. A simple formality, but Darcy is enjoying a glow of enthusiasm as she heads towards her new office. Well, it’s not technically hers. It’s not technically an office either. A ‘shared study space’, according to her Orientation Pack, with space on the bookshelves she can overfill and well-lit work desks to spill coffee over.

The elevator is out of order. Darcy climbs two flights of stairs, huffing a little on the last few. Her assigned desk is in Room 10.2. Her bag is weighing down on her shoulders more than she’d anticipated so she’s keen to sling it down and catch her breath. She doesn’t get the chance. There’s a man stood by the window, and she makes to introduce herself. But a voice turns her head, and suddenly Sam Wilson is talking to her from behind a desk. 

“Been a while, Ms Lewis - or, is it Dr Lewis now?” Sam’s smiling, and now Darcy’s smiling because despite several questions on the tip of her tongue it is good to see Sam and it has been a while. 

“I - no, it’s not Dr. Not yet anyway. You don’t get fancy titles for an MA. Well you do, but they’re just letters. After your name, and I think it’s gauche to put them up anywhere but - what are you doing here, Sam?”

The man in the window turns to face her. Darcy frowns. “And what exactly can I do for you?”

“Uhh... nothing,” Sam isn’t smiling but his eyes are. “It’s actually about what you can do for him...”


	3. The Lesson Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> /my foolish self FORGOT to upload an entire chapter

#3 The Lesson Plan

It’s telling, Darcy thinks, that this is not the strangest thing she has ever done. 

She’s tutored other people before - perhaps not senior citizens, but still; people. Strangers. Freshmen, classmates, even a foreign exchange student who couldn’t get to grips with the Revolutionary Wars. But Darcy has also met Norse deities, and seen monsters of myth and legend come to life in south east London. She helped save the world, once. Thor did most of the heavy lifting - literally - and SHIELD did most of the clean-up, but Darcy helped. She thought about working for SHIELD afterwards; Coulson gave her a business card and some sincere words, but she never called. After London she had exams to focus on. The PhD wasn’t inevitable, but she didn’t hesitate to apply when the advertisement caught her eye either. That was it, Darcy figured. Time to settle down and work at something she enjoyed. Something that didn’t put her in close proximity to dangerous situations - or individuals. 

No, tutoring Bucky Barnes is not the strangest thing Darcy has ever done. But it’s the strangest thing she’s done in a little while. 

“The works,” Sam had specified.

Darcy had needed a little more than that; “What does that entail? Like, Jesus to Yeezus? Truman to Trump? McCarthy to Madonna?”

Sam had glanced to Bucky, who offered a shrug in return. He looked so helpless Darcy had to step in: “How about I ring off some key events and you tell me if you know anything about them?”

“Okay.”

“Enthusiastic, I like it.” Darcy deadpanned. “Uh... what about the Treaty of Versailles?” 

Bucky shook his head.

“Well, okay - you were like, what two years old? And I suppose the consequences weren’t quite as… obvious back then. The D-Day Landings.” 

“Yeah, heard of them at the Smithsonian.” 

“Probably next to a life-size cut out of everyone’s favourite patriot, am I right?” 

Bucky hadn’t met Darcy’s eyes. 

And now she’s poring over a lesson plan in an empty study room booked for the next hour. She has templates from her prior tutoring experiences, but none of them are going to fit the bill. How the fuck do you teach almost a century of history to someone who was responsible for a good chunk of it? Darcy remembers the assassination of King T’Chaka. She heard enough classified information from Jane about the incident in Washington D.C. Plus she has Google. She’s read enough about her student to realise that the world of academia hasn’t taken her away from dangerous situations or individuals at all.


	4. First Day of School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We didn't start the fire...

Bucky feels old. Not physically, of course. Science has given him the health and physique of an Olympic athlete in their prime. But in his bones. In the pit of his stomach, Bucky feels old. He looks older than most of the other students as they dawdle to class of laze around the quad, but not by more than a decade. There’s something about walking across a campus, though, that has Bucky feeling like he’s lived too many life times. College was never on the cards for him, war or no war, but he’d hoped Steve might take some art classes or something one day. The Howling Commandoes shtick paid pretty well, maybe they could have funded it from that. 

But that was another lifetime, and one he’d prefer to dwell on rather less than he does. 

Bucky is headed to the same building as before. Darcy e-mailed him to come by around midday for his first lesson. Some pig-headed prideful part of him hates it all, wants to turn and never come back. He feels foolish and ignorant. It’s humiliating. Even Sam understood that; he stopped making jokes after they met Darcy. Perhaps Sam didn’t think Bucky would actually agree to it, and doing so made his friend realise just how important it is to Bucky. That he gets to see what happened while he was sleeping, while he was locked inside his head. That he gets to take this lifetime, this stolen lifetime, back. 

Darcy is pretending she’s not eagerly waiting in her office. Three times she’s readjusted the seating around the desk. Sat together? Opposite? In the end she has the two seats at right-angles. Non-confrontational, professional. She’s never been this on edge about a tutoring session. Yet even without the unusual student, this is a pretty monumental task. She’s pored over encyclopaedias and time-lines, read articles about thematic versus chronological versus geographical approaches to the era and changed her mind a hundred times. She was up until four am putting the finishing touches to his study guide and that’s only up to Watergate. 

“Hi.” He doesn’t knock - the door’s open, she supposes, but she’d expected a knock.  
“Oh!” Darcy is so absorbed in panicking about her study guides that she really is surprised when he appears. “Hi! Come in, please. Make yourself at home.” After all; she has. Out of three other students assigned this study space, two lasted just over a day and one hasn’t turned up at all. Darcy is... not a selfless student. She tried to keep her belongings within her designated bookshelves and desk, and only forgot to use headphones that one time. But creating a 20th century time line using annotated coffee filters stuck around the walls pushed them over the edge. Luckily, the building is half empty anyway - it’s old, and everyone’s clamouring for the newer offices near the library. Darcy doesn’t mind, though she could have used the company. 

“Thanks.” After much internal debate Bucky decided to bring a small rucksack. There’s nothing much in it; a wallet containing cash (no cards), an old notebook he thinks used to be Steve’s, and a blunt pencil. He places the rucksack under the desk and takes a seat before looking up at his teacher expectantly. “For all of this, I mean. For agreeing to help me.” 

“I figured it’s my civic duty,” she breezes, taking a seat. “And I’m actually getting something out of it - or I hope to. I wanted to ask you first, though.” 

Bucky folds and unfolds his hands. “Yeah?” 

“I’d like to write a paper, exploring the presentation of 20th century history, how the historiography has come about and contemporary responses to it. It won’t be a proper experiment, you’re not a test subject or anything - but it might prompt some debate.” Darcy smiles, trying not to notice how his jaw twitched at ‘test subject’. “You won’t be mentioned by name, and if you’re not happy then I’ll nix it from the get-go.” 

“No, that sounds fine. I mean, I didn’t really understand what you’re going to write, but it’s cool,” Bucky nods. “If it helps your study, then I’m happy.” 

“Well, if it doesn’t at least it can commemorate this weird-as-fuck project,” Darcy says cheerfully. She slides his study guide over. “Here is your new best friend. She will be protected at all costs. You may write on her, highlight, draw - whatever helps. But you will not lose her. Printing costs are extortionate here, and I only did one copy.” 

“Right. New best friend.” He goes to open the front cover but Darcy shakes her head. 

“No! No spoilers just yet. I want to start with an exercise.” She takes out her own notes. “If that’s ok? You said you knew about D-Day, right? We’ll skip over the rest of the War - you were there for the exciting bits anyway. Ended with the A-bomb over Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I’ve got a great documentary lined up; okay, great is a little tasteless as an adjective, but it’s pretty informative.” 

“The atom bomb, right? Nuclear?” 

“See? You’ll pick this stuff up in no time!” She makes a scribble on her notepad. “Alright, next up is the big one: historians tend to shove 1945-1989 into the ‘Cold War’, in which you and your old gang feature heavily.”

“I guess. Don’t remember much. It’s all… mixed up. Out of order, I think. Tried reading up on it - got a whole load of books from the library. Just didn’t make sense.” He doesn’t tell her that he couldn’t make it past the first chapter before throwing up.  
“Well, we won’t treat it as a big ‘era’. We’ll break it down. The world wasn’t just the Soviets and the US. Everything affected everything else. Vietnam, Afghanistan, China. Sure, the Cold War provided a lot of kindling, but it needed sparks.” 

Bucky nods, but he doesn’t seem certain. Or keen to make eye contact. Darcy ploughs on regardless. 

“Talking of sparks… I need you to listen to a song before we carry on.” She takes out her phone - it’s an iPhone, Bucky thinks. He has one too, for watching movies. For contacting people he prefers a landline. Not that he has many people to contact, mind. 

“When were they invented?” He asks, gesturing with his flesh hand.

“Uh… two-thousand-and-something? Apple, they’re this huge company - make loads of computers, phones, iPads. It was a huge deal, having a proper touch-screen.” She taps the screen with nimble, long fingers. “Now they’re everywhere. But we’re getting way, way ahead of ourselves.” She brings up a small movie on the screen and rests the phone against her bag so they can both see it. “It’s a song, from 1989. The singer was like, forty when he wrote it. So he’d lived through all these major events, and figured they’d make a good song. It’s pretty fast, and even I don’t know everything he’s referencing. But I figured it would make a good start to…” She was going to say ‘us’, but that sounds weird. “To your catch-up of the 20th century,” she decides, before pressing play. Bucky leans closer to get a better look. He smells of cheap soap and cinnamon.

_Harry Truman, Doris Day, Red China, Johnnie Ray  
South Pacific, Walter Winchell, Joe DiMaggio…_

“All that happened?” Bucky quirks an eyebrow after the video finishes. 

“Yep. We’ve had a busy century, Buck.” Darcy smiles - and so does Bucky, though it disappears so quickly she’s sure she imagined it. “But we’re starting at the beginning. Well, the beginning of what you missed. You can open your book now.” 

“Oh, I’m allowed now?” He smirks, almost imperceptibly. 

“Yeah,” she grins. “You’re allowed.”


	5. War and Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This studying malarky is hard work. Good job Bucky has such an excellent teacher.

“An essay? Seriously?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?” Darcy’s working at her computer while Bucky goes through some exercises in his study guide. “It’s five hundred words, hardly _War and Peace_.” She looks up over her glasses; “It’s like, a really big b-”

“It came out before I was born, Lewis. I know what _War and Peace_ is.” He turns the page in his study guide. “We read some of it at school. I think. Maybe Steve did - he was in the grade below me. I think.” He frowns. 

“How old are you, anyway?” Darcy asks. “Twenty - twenty-eight? No, you died in ’45, but you hadn’t turned 28 yet - defrosted in 2014, but then you were on ice in Wakanda for a bit, right? So… thirty, you’re thirty.” 

Bucky’s jaw tenses. “You read my file.” 

“Calm down Wikileaks, I googled you.” Darcy says good-naturedly. Everything about her is good natured, come to think of it. The way she smiles when he gets something right. And laughs when he manages to make a joke. And she’s so patient. This is their fourth study session. He still feels lost but she seems genuinely excited about his progress. Her notes about the process, for her own paper, are incomprehensible, but she made it clear he’s allowed to read them whenever he wants. 

“What?” Darcy’s noticed him staring. “Oh, don’t be so glum, Buck. It’s five hundred words. And I’m not grading it, I’m not that strict. You wanna do it here? I’m not going home for hours, you’re welcome to stay.” 

“I'll do it here.” Bucky pushes his seat back and stands up. Darcy’s engrossed in her reading - though how she can read on that infernal screen, he has no idea. He likes computers, despite what Sam Wilson tells everyone, but they’re so bright. He’ll stick to books. “You want a coffee?” 

“Machine’s broke again,” she rolls her eyes. “Canteen’s still open, but only the one across campus.” 

“Then I’ll try not to dawdle,” he tugs on a jacket and baseball cap despite the unseasonably warm day, and Darcy allows herself to watch his perfectly-sculpted ass disappear through the office door. Fuck. _Fuck._

_Nice one, Lewis. Crushing on your student._ It’s not a crush. He’s attractive, she has a pulse. Of course she’s going to look. That’s not unprofessional, or weird, or creepy. She hopes. He’s definitely more friendly than when they first met which is hardly unexpected. She wouldn’t have minded if the cool reserve had stayed as a permanent feature, but it’s a pleasant surprise to find a genuinely warm personality underneath. The way his eyes light up when he laughs - the fact she makes him laugh. And he makes her laugh! He’s funny, and he’s handsome and he’s - back! With coffee. “Uh…? That was quick?” It takes her about seven minutes to get across campus on a good day, but it’s always packed and then she finds someone she wants to gossip with, so that’s almost never. 

Bucky shrugs, placing the polystyrene cup in front of Darcy with two packs of brown sugar. “I jogged. They didn’t have creamer, but I put in whole milk.” 

“Thanks,” She nods. “You jogged? Oh - super soldier jogging. Bit different to me wheezing on a treadmill, I’m guessing?” 

“Something like that, yeah.” Bucky sits back at the desk, but doesn’t open his notebook just yet. He steals a glance at Darcy. She’s still absorbed in her lightbox. He hugs the coffee cup with metal fingers. He swallows. “You go - don’t, you don’t like exercise? I mean, like as a hobby - do you have hobbies?” He glances at the window, wondering if he can leap out without anyone noticing. It’s unlikely. 

“I’m a PhD student,” if she finds his babbling amusing, she doesn’t let it show. “I don’t think we’re allowed hobbies. I used to do embroidery - and don’t call me old-fashioned, because you can’t throw stones.” 

Just like that, the awkwardness has gone. She’s the Midas of social situations. Breezes in like a cool wind and just like that, everyone’s comfortable. At ease. Even him. “Wouldn’t dare,” he manages. “I can sew - not fancy, mind. But I can hem pants, put on buttons. The important stuff.” 

“Mmm, quite the domestic, are we?” Darcy smiles. She doesn’t look away from her laptop while she tears open the sugar packets and empties them in her coffee. 

“Military requirement - you can’t parachute into France with a loose button.” 

It’s the first time he’s mentioned the past. Well, not the _first_ time - she’s teaching him history, after all. But the first time he’s mentioned _his_ past. 

Darcy offers a small smile. “I’ll bear that in mind.”


	6. Ich bin ein Berliner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Superpower relations get frosty, and Darcy turns tourist.

#6 Ich Bin ein Berliner

“So, the blockade ultimately failed - but that doesn’t mean it was a straight win for the West,” Darcy’s explaining. “Some people felt they should have just withdrawn, and left the whole of Berlin for the Soviets.” 

“Practically, maybe,” Bucky responds. He scrolls through the photographs she’s showing him on her iPad. This tablet stuff is way easier than a laptop. It doesn’t quite work with his left hand - Darcy offered to contact SHIELD, get one that would, but he’s fine using his flesh fingers. “But ideologically it was a victory, right?” 

“Exactly,” She nods. 

“It’s like, when we made all those movies, and Steve toured half the western front. Didn’t do jack shit for strategy, or even make military sense. But it helped boost morale. At home, and out there.” He looks up and a boyish grin flashes across his face. “Going by how many drinks people wanted to buy for us anyway.” 

“You’re a lot more interested in this stuff than I expected,” Darcy comments. She drains her coffee and aims the cup to the wastepaper basket by the door. It bounces off the edge and lands on the carpet. Bucky smirks. “What? It’s a hard shot. You’re blocking my eyeline!” 

He finishes his own drink and meets Darcy’s eye with a smirk. Then he tosses his own cup backwards over his shoulder. It arcs gracefully across the room and lands square in the basket. Darcy pokes her tongue out. 

“Why wouldn’t I be interested in it? I was an American soldier, I work in… uh ‘international relations’,” Bucky flips the page in his study guide. “It’s still relevant to me now, even if I don’t... if I’m not the man I was then.” He hesitates for just a moment before shaking his head. “We’re studying history. I was part of that, whether I wanted to be or not. 

“That gives you plenty in common with these guys, then.” She rests a chipped fingernail on the map of blockaded West Berlin. “That wall went up, and it didn’t come down until November 1989. People got stuck on the wrong side - workers, people visiting family. They became part of Soviet history, part of East Germany.” 

“It’s a little different, Darcy.” There’s the beginning of a bite to his tone. 

“Maybe. Some of those people ended up doing things they never imagined - to survive. To get by. People did what they had to do. People still do.” 

Bucky says nothing. For a moment the only sounds are from the quad outside, muffled through the window. Students laughing and chattering; there’s some kind of sporting event later and you can hear the crowds heading towards the gymnasium.

“We’ve got a load of conferences to learn about next.” Darcy’s enthusiasm is a little forced. “Let’s call this chapter ‘old white men argue about everything in black and white photos’, shall we?” 

Yalta, Potsdam, Stalin, Attlee - Bucky’s got it on lock by the time Darcy’s phone buzzes. “One sex - sec, one second.” She holds up her hand to pause Bucky’s retelling of the Marshall Plan. “Oh my God! Yes! Perfect!” 

“Was it? I mean, isn’t it sort of bribery? To keep the Eastern European states from becoming - what was it, a buffer zone?” Bucky frowns at his notes. 

“No - well, yes, kind of, but that’s not what’s perfect. This is,” Darcy holds out her phone for Bucky to see. 

“It’s an itinerary.” Bucky peers at the screen. “For a trip.” 

“Not just any trip,” she squeals, “Bucky Barnes, I am taking you on your first official field trip!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, a girl hasn’t updated in a while. Health, etc. Can’t make any promises for Chapter 8 but we’ll see.


End file.
